


End (as You Mean to Begin)

by rustingroses



Category: Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Secret Avengers
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, PWP, Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 01:45:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5609185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rustingroses/pseuds/rustingroses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil's had a rough day - no, week. Or rather, year. He decides to see Clint, and let him do something about it. Together, they ring in the New Year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	End (as You Mean to Begin)

Phil fumbled with the lock, clumsy and uncoordinated and inadequate. It took three separate attempts, which was pathetic, because Clint hadn’t improved the security in his crappy apartment even after he’d bought the place. Despite Phil’s arguments to the contrary, Clint swore that the building’s occupants and Lucky served as the only real security he could possibly need. Picking the lock should have taken all of ten seconds. With the key, entry should have been swift and silent and the work of perhaps two seconds.

 

It might have been, if Phil’s hands would just stay steady long enough for him to get the damn key in and turn it. His brain couldn’t get his hands to cooperate, let alone coordinate, and he made a godawful racket when he finally lost his temper and rattled the door by the handle like he could unlock it by will alone.

 

In the end, it was Clint who yanked it open from the inside, a scowl on his face as he fumbled with his hearing aids, Lucky leaping off the couch and coming to the door at a dead sprint when he saw who it was. Phil half fell to his knees, and buried his hands into Lucky’s fur. His coat was thick and soft these days, evidence of being pampered, and Phil rubbed his belly, letting Lucky lick his ear in turn. He could feel Clint’s eyes, their clear, sharp blue all but boring into him. Phil didn’t lift his head. He knew Clint’s eyes, and knew what Clint would see: Phil, rumpled and with hands stilled only by virtue of being dug into Lucky’s fur, scratching him in all the right places. Phil, with circles under his eyes and lines bracketing his mouth and a receding hairline that he’d long since given up trying to disguise. Phil, with the remnants of bloodstains on his clothes and the heavy weight in his chest which was as unbearable as it was irrational, because he’d done worse, lived through worse, and this made no sense. Phil, who couldn’t meet Clint’s eyes.

 

Phil, kneeling in Clint’s hallway an hour short of midnight on New Year’s Eve, with no more excuses on his lips, no more easy answers, no more rationalizations. He knelt there, exposed.

 

Clint took a step back, and finally Phil looked up. His eyes trapped Phil, and Phil’s chest clenched around his breath and any words he might have mustered until they suffocated. “Come in,” Clint offered. He snapped his fingers and Lucky reluctantly pulled away, padding into the apartment proper. Phil followed him, because of course he followed Clint’s voice. Well - he followed Clint’s eyes, at any rate.

 

Rising, he shut the door behind him, and locked it, staring at the apartment blankly when he turned to face the room. A blanket lay rumpled on the couch, along with several pillows. Three half-empty coffee cups were on the table beside it. “Phil?” Clint asked.

 

“Yeah,” Phil rasped. “I mean - yes. Sorry.” He shook his head, and began to drag himself together and assemble a mask.

 

In two long strides, Clint had crossed the room and all but slammed Phil up against the door, his body taut and smelling softly of coffee and musk. “Stop,” Clint commanded, and it was the voice of the man who’d fought as a Secret Avengers, as a SHIELD agent, who had clawed out of darkness to bring people home. It was the man Phil had fought beside and bled beside. It was Hawkeye.

 

It was also the voice of the friend-come-lover that Phil had woken up beside, the one who’d laughed uproariously until he cried at Kate’s expression when blindsided by a tackle from Lucky, the one who smiled so brightly despite everything that sometimes Phil didn’t dare look away. The one whose mouth Phil had memorized. The man Phil had fallen in love with. It was Clint.

 

Phil stopped trying to hold himself together. Hawkeye or Clint, it didn’t matter. Both could carry him for a little while. “It’s been a long - a long - ” He stammered, and fell silent. An hour until midnight. Less, now. “A long year,” he finished, and Clint’s eyes met his.

 

Clint smiled, that familiar crooked smile. “Yeah. Yeah, it has,” he agreed, voice rough and cracking. “A long ass fucking year.” His callused fingers stroked Phil’s cheek, brushing over a tiny scar where his left ear met his hairline. Phil’s arms circled Clint’s waist to pull him even closer, and now Phil could feel the sturdy lines of Clint’s thighs, the strength of his biceps, their chests pressed together as Clint nosed at Phil’s jaw. His breath curled against Phil’s skin and send goosebumps racing down his body. “But hey, at least we’re finishing out the year strong, aren’t we? You’re here, I’m here, and we’ll ring in the New Year together.”

 

“Since when are you so smart?” Phil joked lightly, tilting his head back and relaxing into the sensation. Clint effortlessly trapped him against the door even now, and Phil couldn’t care. Not caring came far easier when you stood on steady ground.

 

“I’m not,” Clint said, just a little too earnestly. “Didn’t you know? I’m just a dumb hick from Iowa. A circus freak. I don’t know nothing.”

 

Phil’s hands slid under Clint’s shirt. The muscles of his back shifted beneath his skin with Clint’s every breath, warmly alive. “No,” Phil said simply. “No, you’re not.” He spoke with the conviction of absolute knowledge, and Clint’s lips briefly stilled so close to Phil’s throat that his racing heartbeat threatened to force contact.

 

When Clint’s lips finally touched Phil’s skin - not his nose, not his breath, just the pure sweetness of his mouth - Phil shuddered. “A long year,” Clint repeated, and Phil laughed a little, rough and uncertain and perfect. Clint pressed impossibly closer, and Phil laughed again.

 

“I know,” Phil replied helplessly. “I know, Clint, fucking hell.” His nails ran lightly along Clint’s spine, eliciting a shudder, and several more kisses that Clint pressed from Phil’s jaw right down to his collarbone, teeth teasing at the delicate skin there while Phil’s lips parted on a soft sigh. Clint shifted at the noise, a hungry, sharp noise falling from his lips in turn. “Gonna just fuck me up against the door?” Phil rasped. “Assuming we even make it to that. Or are we just going to rub up against each other until we come in our pants like teenagers?”

 

Clint lifted his head away and Phil gripped Clint’s body had to keep him retreating any more. Clint’s lashes were surprisingly long at this moment, blue eyes shadowed, and mouth curled into a little smirk. “Actually, I was thinking I’d cuff you to my bed and blindfold you, and then tease you until you can’t remember anything. Until you can’t think about anything at all.”  _ Until the entire year disappeared for them both _ , Clint’s touch whispered, as he pulled Phil towards the bedroom.

 

Phil never protested. Wouldn’t. Couldn’t.

 

Instead, he let Clint strip him in the bedroom, the clothes dropping to the ground in a careless heap. Clint’s touch ran over Phil’s skin with surety, and Phil could do nothing but try to return the favor, pulling off his shirt and jeans and boxers and laughing, quite suddenly, when Clint stood before him in nothing but a pair of polka-dotted socks. Phil surged forward, and their lips met crookedly, off center and too hard, and then they both shifted a little, gave a little, and it melted into something that left Phil utterly breathless.

 

Clint kicked off the socks, pushed down Phil’s own boxer-briefs, and then they were both bare, skin sliding against each other as they dove into another hungry kiss. Phil’s nails were digging into Clint’s waist again, but that that was alright because Clint kept yanking at what was left of Phil's hair. Clint’s thigh was between his legs, and Phil coaxed noise after noise from Clint.

 

By the grace of God, they’d never have to disentangle completely.

 

Clint shoved him back down to the bed and Phil let himself fall, shifting back on the bed a little until he was spread across it. Clint gazed down at him, eyes bright and clear and he murmured, “Arms towards the bed posts. Legs too.” Phil nodded, spread eagle, watching and being watched in turn.

 

Phil nodded again, and then Clint was moving briskly to each corner, quick fingers buckling Phil into the custom leather cuffs that seemed to appear out of nowhere. “Check them?” Clint asked, and Phil strained just a little, swearing and smiling when there wasn’t more than an inch of slack while his heart pounded.

 

“Good,” Phil reported, and then Clint straddled him in a quick movement, a strip of cloth in his hands, crisply moving to blind Phil. He closed his eyes as Clint tied it, and the darkness eclipsed everything else. He inhaled sharply, suspended and waiting, feeling the heat along his thighs from Clint’s unmoving, unyielding weight. He strained for a half second against his bonds and then relaxed again, and Clint rewarded him with a finger down his chest, along his sternum and down to his belly. Phil’s abs tensed, shivering a little with the barely there caress. Then Clint’s hand fell away again, and Phil lay stretched in the darkness, aware of his bonds, aware of his blindness, aware that Clint was close and not close at all.

 

Aware of the weight of the year, of the  _ entire _ year.

 

“Let’s ring in the New Year properly, right?” Clint breathed.

 

Phil wanted to reach out, but he had to settle for murmuring, “Yeah. Please. I just - please, Clint. Fuck everything, please.” He strained with his voice, and Clint answered his call. Phil found himself hyper aware of Clint’s weight shifting above him, the minute changes of Clint’s breath as he kissed Phil’s parted lips, and ran his hands over the sensitive flesh of Phil’s inner arms.

 

“I’m here,” Clint said firmly. “I’m not going anywhere.” That didn’t mean he planned to rush into things, though, not if the way Clint kept kissing him was any indication. It luxuriated in the act not as a precursor, but for the sheer intimacy and affection that built between them. Phil’s body flexed for a fraction of a second, but Clint pulled away, lips moving to Phil’s chest.

 

He circled Phil’s nipples, lips first, then with carefully applied teeth until each nub had peaked and Phil’s breath had roughened. “I know,” Phil replied. “I do know that. Why do you think I came to you?”

  
Clint made a sound then, like it was Phil torturing him with pleasure. Barely audible, a faint plea edging the noise, and raw. So fucking raw that Phil bit his lower lip so he couldn’t ask for the blindfold to be removed so he could see Clint’s face. The noise, however unexpected, would suffice. Phil could accept a gift when handed one. “You fucking asshole,” Clint muttered then, and Phil’s mouth curled in a sly little smile. “You’re going to fucking pay for that.”

 

“Promise?” Phil’s mouth answered without any prompting from his brain, and he was rewarded with Clint tweaking his nipples until Phil’s back arched from the sharp, sudden, and unrelenting sensation. His hands fisted in the cuffs and he couldn’t help but bare his teeth for a fraction of an instant. Clint’s mouth sealed over one nipple then, while his nails grazed Phil’s stomach again.

 

Phil instinctively tried to curl in on himself but Clint followed his movements, turning almost languid. Phil wasn’t fooled, though, because Clint anticipated his every shift, sucking on his nipple, his fingers cleverly stroking over long familiar points of sensitivity that left Phil quivering. “Fucking hell,” Phil gasped, and and Clint’s mouth curved against his chest. “You’re going to be the death of me, I swear. I fucking swear it.”

 

“The little death, maybe,” Clint said brightly, and Phil had to smile in answer to the smile he was certain graced Clint’s face.

 

“A dumb hick my ass,” Phil snickered, and trailed off into a sharp gasp as Clint leaned back and wrapped a hand around Phil’s cock without ceremony and stroked him, just the once, just hard enough and slow enough that Phil was made hyper aware of just how much he needed Clint, needed this laughter and joy and pain-edged pleasure. “Jesus!”

 

“Sorry,” Clint crooned, “just Clint,” and Phil groaned because that was the fucking oldest line in the book, and Phil found himself turning his face up anyways, and smiling against the kiss Clint pressed to his mouth, their tongues sliding together in a less filthy version of what they’d be doing soon - albeit not soon enough for Phil’s taste. Clint pulled away slowly, letting Phil follow him until his cuffs trapped him against the bed again.

 

Then Clint got off Phil’s thighs, saying, “Just a moment. I’ve got a little something to make this more fun.” Phil could hear him rummaging around in the closest, and then in the bedside table, talking to himself: “Coulda sworn it was - oh, no, well, this’ll work - yes, there we go - here.” Then he was back on the bed, running a hand down Phil’s side in a gesture of sheer comfort, pressing a kiss to the top of his arm before he gripped Phil’s dick, stretching something down over it and settling it around the base and Phil’s balls. A cock ring, then. Clint’s hands moved one more time, and Phil’s brain fuzzed out for an instant.

 

Not a cock ring, then.

 

A  _ vibrating _ cock ring.

 

Phil moaned, hips rolling up like he might actually get more sensation, or like he might get enough friction just from this to come - or like Clint might allow it. The darkness of the blindfold swirled all around him, making the sensation beautifully acute as Phil arched restlessly. “God, Clint - and don’t you dare make another fucking joke - fucking God - ”

 

“You hand me a line like ‘fucking God’ and you expect me to practice restraint?” Clint teased, and Phil wanted to punch him and also kiss him, more so when Clint switched the cock ring up to the next setting. Still endurable, for now, but Phil choked on his next breath all the same.

 

“Please, come on,” Phil muttered, but Clint just moved to straddle him again and paused there. Phil’s heart thrummed in his chest; Clint’s gaze was an unmistakable weight, studying Phil and how to take him apart. “Please.” Begging for more torture or relief - it didn’t matter, either way, because Clint had him pinned and waiting, suspended against soft sheets and Clint’s body and that sheltering darkness.

 

Clint didn’t respond with a quip. Instead, he let the moment stretch, until Phil started to use the time to try to distance himself from the vibration wrapped around his dick. Clint, naturally, used that moment to lavish attention along Phil’s floating ribs on his right side, where he was especially sensitive, and Phil squirmed reflexively. Clint followed as before, building the sensation of his nails and teeth and tongue all together until a heavy wall of sheer sensation rolled over him when Clint did nothing more complex than breath on the spot.

 

Clint eased away, giving Phil a few seconds to catch his breath before he found another place to torment, this time using some sort of soft brush to help deepen the sensation even more quickly. As before, Phil’s breath left him in a hot burst when the patch of skin hovered between pleasure and pain at nothing more than Clint’s lightest touch. “God. God, fuck,” Phil whispered. “Clint, Clint.” His hands fought against the cuffs for a moment, as much to reach for Clint as to hide these newly sensitive, aching stretches of flesh.

 

“Yes, babe?” Clint asked in a honey-sweet voice. Phil choked on the words, choked and made a ridiculous overwhelmed sound when Clint ran something over the spot on Phil’s ribs. Something edged, but not sharp, but the  _ feel _ of it made white noise consume Phil for a long, lovely moment. When that faded away again, Phil repeated his pleas in a harsher, tighter voice. He struggled to grab hold of the thread of time again, but his hold had weakened.

 

Clint just hummed, and spent his time creating two new spots of hideous, glorious,  _ ruinous _ oversensitivity. He bounced back and forth between them at random, making Phil jump and gasp and curse and beg. Occasionally he’d compliment it with a bite to Phil’s nipples, or another one of those devastating strokes to the two spots Clint had created earlier. Some miniscule part of Phil wanted to know just what the fuck Clint was using, but the rest of Phil felt like his nerves had become hardwired for overload and didn’t give a shit.

 

It wasn’t long before Phil struggled against the onslaught as Clint bounced between each spot at random, occasionally pinching or sucking on his nipples to prevent Phil from falling into any sort of pattern. Phil tried to keep track, tried to anticipate, but the waves of exquisite sensation kept him off balance long enough that when Clint suddenly stroked his cock, Phil shouted in response. The pleasure seared through everything else, a perfect complement to the overload. Phil gritted his teeth against the vibrations that seemed to be traveling right down to his bones, only to shout again, more raw now, when Clint went back to Phil’s ribs and stroked that - that thing over his side and Phil suddenly bucked up against the cuffs, pleading words sliding free of his mouth as his higher brain function decided that it was not in the least prepared for this, and shut down completely.

 

Phil’s head tossed back and forth of its own volition as Clint soothed his fingers over Phil’s arms gently. “You alright?” Clint murmured, lips brushing Phil’s cheek as Phil grew still again. Or mostly still, at least. He didn’t think Clint would hold the minute trembling against him.

 

“Yeah,” he rasped. It took a long moment for Phil to parse the question and arrive at some sort of meaning. “S’a lot. Good.” Clint’s fingers briefly tangled with his, and Phil had to bite his lower lip as his traitorous throat tightened for a dangerous moment. Then Clint’s lips pressed to Phil’s own briefly, chaste. Phil tried to follow it anyways.

 

Clint huffed a little laugh, but didn’t return. Instead, the very fingers that had entwined Phil’s own wrapped around Phil’s cock, this time stroking steadily. Phil gritted his teeth, because he  _ wanted _ , but it was eclipsed by the knowledge that although it hadn’t been explicitly stated, Clint expected him to wait, and the permission mattered. Clint rewarded Phil with another one of those chaste kisses that left Phil’s head reeling even more, drowning in overload without a moment of regret. Phil tried to follow again, a soft plea on his lips again - or perhaps he’d never stopped - but Clint just nuzzled him, mouth so soft and sweet even as his hands teased Phil’s body and made him painfully, beautifully hard.

 

“Clint,” Phil heard himself saying, the words washing over him, “I - I can’t. I need you, please, no more.” His body fought in earnest against its bonds now, needing Clint’s warmth and his kisses and his wicked touches. Clint allowed it this time, hand so slick and perfect around Phil’s cock.

 

“I know. I know,” Clint whispered. “It’s alright. I know you needed this.” Phil nodded frantically, as though agreement would win him release. “I know. I know. Just a few more moments. Phil, I’ve got you.”

 

Phil could no more disobey than he could chew his arm off at the moment, but Clint had requested just a few more minutes. A few more agonizing, exhilarating moments and Phil couldn’t breathe, couldn’t stop shaking. He needed Clint, who surrounded him, eliciting perfect responses from Phil’s body like he was Clint’s bow.

 

“Now,” Clint whispered suddenly, hot and harsh in his ear. “Now, Phil, now, now, now!”

 

Phil cried out, because Clint’s hands made Phil’s body arch and every nerve light up and he was coming in long, pulsing waves that Clint sheltered him through in that gentle, warm blackness. Every place their bodies touched was a source of hot pleasure that coalesced into release.

 

Currents of pleasant energy jolted through him for a long while after, sliding through him. Nothing else seemed to matter, except for the way Clint moved around him, touching his ankles for a few moments, and his softening cock before a warm cloth ran over his skin. Clint then held himself over Phil’s body, kissing him slowly, fingers stroking lightly between Phil’s still-spread legs.

 

That made the currents intensify in a way that made Phil shaky and hot all over, and with his legs loose suddenly, he was able to wrap them around Clint’s body with clumsy strength and pull him close. Clint huffed against the skin of Phil’s jaw, and he pressed another smile to Phil’s skin. “Yeah?” he murmured.

 

“Hell yeah,” Phil rasped, only partly there, but without the slightest hint of hesitation. “Clint.”

 

The name acted like some magical countersign, because Clint leaned back for just a moment as he coaxed Phil to spread his legs wider. Then two fingers pressed inside Phil’s ass suddenly, and he yelped even as more of that hot desire rippled through him. Clint didn’t thrust, though, not yet, and Phil didn’t think he’d ever get tired of the way Clint’s clever blue eyes never missed a beat. Phil’s mouth curved into a helpless smile.

 

The overload of sensation from orgasm eased only by slow degrees, and even then, when Phil passed some unknown test and Clint’s fingers began rocking into him steadily, the pressure against his prostate made it impossible to think all over again.

 

Clint’s tongue and mouth found Phil’s ribs, his hip, reminding Phil sharply that the oversensitive flesh had not, in fact, recovered, and he moaned softly, hips moving in response to Clint’s fingers. His thumb kept rubbing against Phil’s perineum as he worked, and Phil’s thighs shook a little. By any reasonable measure, this should be far too much, far too soon, but although the pleasure moved through him like molasses now, rather than an electric current, it was equally unstoppable, equally unbearable, equally consuming.

 

Clint’s breath fanned over Phil’s cock and a frisson of want climbed Phil’s spine and he groaned. He wasn’t hard yet, couldn’t be, but his dick had thickened just a little, enough that when Clint’s lips wrapped around Phil’s barely revealed head and tongued his slit, Phil thrashed against his bound wrists, thighs pressing tight against Clint’s body. Clint, that perfect, incredible asshole, pressed hard to Phil’s prostate while sucking a mere second later, and Phil made no proper sound at all, ragged lungfuls of air tearing their way free of his body.

 

“I could watch you like this for hours,” Clint confided in a low voice, and Phil’s head turned to the side, too much and not enough and there his throat went again, tightening. “Every time you allow me to do this to you, strip it all away. Me.  _ Me _ .” If Phil was blinded, pinned, exposed, Clint’s voice made them equals again. “Fucking hell, Phil. You know I’d - anything. Anything, damn it. I’d say it’s not fair, except, except you’re here.”

 

“Kiss me.” Phil’s voice belonged to a stranger, throaty and a little strained but the crisp intonation was all his, and he needed this from Clint no matter that all rationality had gone spiraling off and his composure had been artfully shredded. He spoke, and Clint answered, and when their mouths met Phil would have even given up SHIELD, given up the Avengers, given up his life, if it meant being able to prolong this for a second more.

 

They kissed, and it was simple and good and right.

 

They didn’t so much as break the kiss as let it fade until they just breathed each other’s space. Clint tilted his head, and his lashes brushed Phil’s cheek.

 

“Inside me,” Phil whispered. “Please.” That was it, all the human words that Phil had left. Clint breathed an affirmative, lashes just barely touching skin again.

 

Phil lay stretched and naked in an ocean of black as Clint did things - practical things, Phil knew with that distant sensibility that belonged to someone else for now. The rest of him just whined a protest until Clint laughed and did that thing, used that edged tool on three of the four oversensitive expanses of skin, and Phil quivered as he waited for the last spot to be touched, as he rode out the tsunami traveling down his nerves.

 

Instead, Clint pressed inside Phil, coaxing his hips to a new angle and shifting one of Phil’s thighs up over Clint’s shoulder. Phil’s body gave way slowly, and Clint wrapped his hand around Phil’s cock and jacked him steadily and holy fuck, when had he gotten this hard? When had the desire wound so tightly within him? When had the bright star of love started blazing this brightly?

 

He moaned and arched up against Clint, whose fingers briefly ran along Phil’s spine in response. Clint’s breath washed heavily against Phil’s clavicle, and when their bodies met, Clint’s weight and heat burned everything else away: the heat of him inside Phil, the fire that licked at Phil’s skin at the places that Clint had worked over that lay between their bodies. Clint’s hands slid up towards Phil’s chest, passing by his ribs on the way to his nipples and Phil - Phil would surely come out the other side of this clean. Nothing impure could withstand that inferno.

 

Clint started fucking him, and Phil became a collection of parts. The pleasure sparking up from his ass, where Clint’s dick kept sliding over Phil’s prostate. The tenderness of Clint’s lips finding places to land. The shocking and wondrous flare of nerves gone raw on his ribs, his hip, his thigh, his chest. The heavy need centered in his cock, pulsing and leaking. The darkness all around him, inside him, slowly filling with stars.

 

Between a pair of heartbeats, the new parts came together and Phil might have come, or possibly witnessed the universe being made anew. Phil didn’t think it mattered which, especially not when Clint’s lips finally came back to Phil’s mouth, uncoordinated and pliant. Clint’s even thrusts staggered to a halt, and Clint covered Phil completely while Phil soaked up Clint’s sheer, lively presence.

 

They shared more kisses, assuming that their fumblings could be considered such. Clint laughed against Phil’s mouth, and Phil tasted it as he let Clint envelop him, enjoying the aftermath of sensory overload. Clint’s fingers ran through Phil’s hair, sweat-soaked, and encountered the knot of the blindfold. Clint muttered something, but Phil just ignored it. Clint was capable, he’d figure out what to do while Phil remained utterly boneless.

 

Some time later, Phil realized that his hands were free and aching a little from being spread wide. He pulled them in close, trying to find Clint but encountering nothing but cotton sheets. He mumbled something incoherent, and heard Clint snicker from a little ways off. Phil considered pulling off the blindfold but that seemed too much of an effort.

 

“Still out of it, huh? Well, I guess I’m not surprised. Give me just a minute.” Phil listened to Clint walk around the bedroom, gathering a few things based on the rustling noises, and humming under his voice. Phil remembered, now, that Clint always felt energized after sex unlike most men. He wrinkled his nose, but Clint just leaned over and kissed the tip. A smile tugged at Phil’s mouth. “Blindfold on or off? If you’re not up for talking, then you can just nod for taking it off or shake your head for leaving it on. I’ve turned the lights off, and pulled the shades, so it’s pretty dim in here. I just need to grab a washcloth, and I’ll get you cleaned up.”

 

Phil considered that tiredly for a long moment, and then nodded his head. Clint carefully removed the blindfold, only pulling on a few strands of Phil’s hair in the process. He made up for it by scratching his nails through Phil’s short hair, easing the sting. Phil cracked open an eye, and when it didn’t make his eyes ache, he opened them fully, blinking a few times. Clint’s face was above him, rumpled and careworn and smiling. Even in the dim light, his blue eyes drew Phil’s attention and left a helpless smile on his face and his heart thumping painfully in his chest. “There you are,” Clint murmured, expression relaxed and sated. “Hey.” He leaned in, and Phil met him halfway so they could share a kiss. “Hey.”

 

“Hey,” Phil murmured back, and Clint grinned and they kissed again.

 

“Gimme just another minute. I know you might not be feeling it at the moment, but you’ll feel gross pretty soon. Sheets or no sheets?”

 

Phil lifted his hand and trailed his fingertips over the abraded bits of skin, shivering pleasantly. Enough time had passed that they were no longer capable of shattering his focus, but they left pleasant aftershocks bubbling through his body whenever so much as a gust of air moved over them. “No sheets yet,” he rasped, his voice still raw. “Too sensitive.” Clint nodded and cupped Phil’s face and kissed him again before heading to the bathroom. Phil rubbed at his eyes a couple of times, watching through cracked lids as Clint half-closed the bathroom door, the water running. He came out a moment later and began to efficiently wipe Phil down, being careful around the abraded skin. “Since when are you the type of guy to have washcloths in your apartment?” Phil asked, slowly coming back to himself.

 

Clint rolled his eyes. “Since Katie-Kate decided that she needs to fix up shit around here. I’ve also got potpourri I found in my drawers, and she keeps getting Lucky this gourmet dog food that’s supposed to be good for him.” He shrugged. “Oh well. At least it’s coming in use.” He finished with Phil and then tossed it back in the bathroom. It landed in the sink with a splat, and Phil snickered a little. Clint winked at him lasciviously, making Phil snicker again. With both of them clean and relaxed, however, Clint climbed into bed and carefully wrapped himself around Phil. Phil took the opportunity to cuddle against Clint’s side, taking comfort from the stability Clint offered. For once, Clint didn’t say so much as a word about it, instead letting Phil drift off a little longer.

 

“Happy New Year, by the way,” Clint said quietly, later. “We missed it somewhere around the time I was opening you up, I think.” That made Phil snort, and Clint smirked. “Hey, what is it they say? You’re supposed to do at midnight what you want to do for the rest of the year? Something like that, at any rate. As far as I’m concerned, making you forget everything but me is a pretty satisfying way for the year to end. And begin, for that matter.”

 

“Yeah,” Phil agreed, pleased. “I can’t say I’m pissed about how this worked out either.” He pressed his face to Clint’s throat and sighed, nuzzling closer. “Thanks,” he added several long moments later. “For - well, thanks.”

 

Clint shrugged a little. “It’s nice, actually. Good. To be there with someone and not fuck things up,” he said ruefully. “I don’t exactly have the best track record with this kind of shit. People coming to me for emotional help, I mean.”

 

Phil’s lip twitched. “Well, you did basically solve it with sex, so while you did technically make me feel better, it involved you fucking my brains out instead of talking, so six of one, half dozen of the other.”

 

“Well, did you want to talk about it?” Clint asked sensibly.

 

“No. Definitely not,” Phil replied fervently.

 

Clint smirked. “Well, there’s your answer. Sexing you up was the right plan of action.”

 

Phil buried his head in Clint’s chest and groaned. “Although maybe don’t call it sexing me up,” he complained. “That makes me sound like a - a - floozy.” Clint lay in perfect silence for a moment, before bursting out laughing, and Phil groaned again, shaking his head. “You know what I meant!” he protested, but Clint just kept laughing until Phil elbowed him. Phil had to settle for kissing him silent with a grudging kiss.

 

“Yeah, I know what you meant,” Clint agreed, eyes sparkling. “But I love nothing more than giving you shit.” Phil rolled his eyes, but settled again. “But no matter what, you’ve got me,” Clint added, voice barely audible.

 

Phil shivered a little, and curled against Clint. “Yeah. I do. And you’ve got me, you know. I promise that you do.” He kissed Clint, the sweetest yet, and Clint nodded, his fingers tightening on Phil and leaving him with a lovely ache in his chest. “That’s why I came here. Going anywhere else wasn’t an option.”

 

Clint nodded, expression soft and warm. “Yeah. Yeah. I get that. Okay, enough mushy bullshit. If I talk about feelings any more, I’m going to be forced to shove you out of my bed.”

 

“Oh, well then. I suppose that’s reason enough for us to sleep,” Phil allowed, and pulled the covers up over both of them. Clint sighed and the pair of them fell silent, the warmth wrapping around them both. “Pancakes in the morning, or waffles?”

 

“Waffles. Definitely waffles,” Clint murmured sleepily.

 

Phil smiled, small and secretive, and closed his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> 2015 was a rough year, albeit not entirely a negative year, for a number of reasons, and one of the many things that fell to the wayside was writing, unfortunately. This fic was written on New Years Eve and New Years Day, so that I, too, might end as I mean to begin.
> 
> Please feel free to come hang out with me on my [tumblr](http://rustingroses.tumblr.com/)!


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